


We'll Meet Again:

by TheLightdancer



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Death of the Endless, Desire cameos, F/M, Lazarus Pit, Spanking, Talia also cameos, Top Jason Todd, porn without much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightdancer/pseuds/TheLightdancer
Summary: In his time between resurrection by Lazarus Pit and his death, Jason Todd finds himself meeting a very strange woman.Later, with the Outlaws at his side he finds out that his meeting was more than he'd ever believed it to be.
Relationships: Death of the Endless/Jason Todd, Koriand'r/Raven
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	We'll Meet Again:

METROPOLIS, NEW TROY:

Jason Todd whirled when he saw a woman whose eyes looked at the broken body of the demon Trigon (and the oddly gore-free body of the heavily bearded Bizarro that stood between the torn chunks) with unabashed delight. She was pale as bone, her eyes an infinite pool of flowing darkness, her hair matching her eyes perfectly. She was clad in a midriff exposing top that drew the eye to a body that remained the most beautiful of any that he'd seen, a thing that had soured him to a degree on other women (and he had learned of other people, a Sergei Jasanovic, raised in Italy, among them, and a middle aged man named Sexton Furnival who'd married a beautiful Goth who very strongly resembled elements of _her_ and of Eva Green, to boot, the lucky bastard, who shared this issue). Not entirely, and it could not and would be entirely so when he was around the red-headed and gorgeous Artemis of Bana-Migdhall.

Her subset of the Amazons were not the refined and beautiful monster-slayers of Themyscira, which remained atop a literal gateway to Hell, or at least one of its various planes. They lived in the world, not of it, and lived in the Maghreb. Thy retained Hellenic names, but were of Berber descent and most were as pale as most Berber. Artemis, as a redhead with a beauty and a build to match her more famous frenemy Diana, in particular stood out very greatly among her kindred and had attained a fame in what the Amazons collectively termed Man's World to match Diana's. Between her and the bearded chalk-skinned thing that was the most Superman-like Bizarro he'd ever seen, with less of the infamous incoherent Bizarro speak, their Dark Trinity had made quite the name for itself.

He'd even poached dear Dickie Bird's girlfriend and for a brief time the Titans' dark mistress of Magic, who was busy talking to her girlfriend, the two of them more enthusiastic than usual. He could hardly blame her, she'd baited dear old dad as neatly as he pleased and her gamble on Bizarro had not only worked but spared her the headache of her family and given her freedom. He suspected that Kori was going to get laid tonight, and that thought plus a bit of amusement at Dick's expense was what had crossed his mind when a sound of wings intruded and then there was the woman who looked like _her._ She strode to the broken demon and then there was a brief and angry and bitter rolling anger from the demon and that sound, the sound of wings.

And then there she was, hands in her pocket looking at him as her eyes of infinite darkness met his own behind his hood.

She bit her lip slightly, kicking her heel back just a bit.

 _ **You're looking good,**_ she said with a soft smile of those dark lips and on her face that was that inhuman hue that reflected a body no entity of truly human nature could or would possess. It drew him, as it had then. She made his eyes ache, slightly, too beautiful to be human even if at one level she was slim. Much moreso than Artemis, Kori, or even Raven, who was famously the least well-endowed of superheroes and quite content with it, to boot. Her voice too did not quite sound like a voice truly did, it was the voice that was soothing and kindly enough that it quite literally made souls willing to leave their bodies, and that bestowed them in likewise.

Her ankh flashed as it had that day. He remained speechless for a time, and then cautiously reached out to place a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in.

"Come with me tonight."

The entity, more powerful than any God or Goddess in certain ways if less involved in the manipulation of the material fabric of the universe than the likes of the Olympians or the entities of the Fourth World, smiled brightly, and spoke in that voice that was ethereal and threaded into the soul and heard there, not in the eardrum.

_**Peachy keen!** _

GOTHAM CITY, SIX YEARS AGO:

There was a cruelty in his eighteenth birthday. It had been that day that the damned clown had stolen a march on him and captured first the woman who had the misfortune to be his mother, and it was more his misfortune than hers. He loved her but she loved cocaine more and a man who'd taken him in and dressed him in brightly colored uniforms as distraction and bullet magnet had proven a better parent than his mother. His father probably would have tried but he ran into the crossfire of the old mob families before the Batman had broken them all but the Thorne and Falcone families.

The Joker had taken her captive and then when he'd come to rescue her played the recording of her pleading for his coming to help, standing over a body that Jason preferred not to remember (and much less messy than his own had proven to be). Then he'd taken him captive and there had been hours with the crowbar, hours of waiting for Bruce (not knowing that in the midst of all this that Jervis Tetch had picked an abnormally good time to distract the Batman. He only found this out later, after his resurrection, and that meant his anger would shift to the Joker only and not the Batman without changing anything else about him then). Hours and as his vision faded and the immense aches and pains did likewise, he heard a soft voice moving like mist into his soul, it slipped into him and around him and through him.

 _ **It's my task to love everyone, but some people are more easy to love than others,**_ said the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, who perched on a broken light over his body. He was there with her and he did not question that then.

 _ **Some people just have something really terrible inside them.....**_ and her eyes, infinite darkness met his, and for a moment he felt his breath taken away as she cocked her head, looking at him keenly.

 _ **It never fails,**_ she spoke musingly. **_People like you, or the last son of Krypton, or the daughter of Darkness. You have my brother's protection and shielding over you. This, essentially, is your equivalent of a vacation until the stories decide you're needed again._** Not until he'd met the being who was once Daniel Hall, grandson of Carter Hall and Diana of Themyscira, did he understand this statement, and then it was something that made all too much sense. He was not certain if Dream of the Endless was the ally of heroes or their greatest enemy, someone entrapping them in an endless and interminable series of battles that always continued and were never allowed a truly satisfactory ending. Then, there was sitting on a broken light over his broken body, with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Infinite darkness met bright blue eyes, and she looked at him musingly. Jason had never been with anyone else before, and it would become an oddity of his life after his resurrection that he awoke with skills that seemed honed and as if a part of his muscle-memory, even if it was hard to admire anyone else in the hindsight of what was there. He felt then something that others had felt, a great burning desire for the entity next to him (a brief flicker in a distant corner would have shown two simultaneous manifestations of an entity with bright golden eyes. One was behind him and he heard a second whisper, dual voiced and sharp. Another was behind the woman who sat straight for a moment and golden light seemed to infuse into her eyes, though he did not see that).

Their looking at each other shifted then and in a sudden _wrenching_ they found themselves in an apartment, a very basic one at that. Bruce would have turned his nose up at it. Fuck's sake, he even thought Diana or Clark would have and their taste was much more Spartan than Bruce's. He barely noticed anything, a teddy bear on one side of the room, a counter just a few feet away with a fishbowl and two goldfish there as well. There was him and there was her, the slight flecks of gold in her eyes that reflected a change in her. She seemed....flushed, almost, and yet her skin was not truly changed. She was beside him, then, and their bodies were close together and that ethereal element in her voice had shifted as well, becoming thicker and making him feel a heat that he was not yet truly used to yet.

 _ **I prefer women,**_ she said, almost musingly. _**Yet it wouldn't hurt to try a man. Once.**_

Jason looked at her curiously, and then shrugged. He wasn't about to admit he was a-she laughed, softly. _**Virginity only means what you want it to mean. Here, in this place?**_

She flicked her wrist slightly and then they were both exposed, his body simultaneously lean in certain aspects but stockier and much more muscled in others. She was as ethereal in the rest of her as she was in what her clothes showed, her body there to him in a way that no human woman, or even Tamaranean, could ever be. It was....he blinked, kind of stupidly as he leaned in to meet her, feeling the dual voice from two-shadows influencing him and yet it wasn't at all something he resisted. It felt more like a concept doing what a concept would, like Desire kindled and come true. Desire's work and then his lips met what were and were not lips, and for a moment he only saw stars in the most literal sense. 

Initially she led the kiss but it surprised him how easily he was able to take command of it when he tried, her tongue yielding to his and her body and hands yielding likewise. His later successes hardly inclined him to admit just how much of a confidence booster it was but it was one that this beautiful woman yielded to his kisses and let him feel a woman's body for the first time. He was not entirely good at it at first and all she did was subtly with a grip of strength that was deceptively powerful relative to her slenderness next to him move him to specific places, turning a slight annoyed grunt muffled by kisses into much more sultry sounds. He would break the kisses only to rain them along her jawline and her neck as his hands slid further down and hers seemed to dart around him with a skill that was simultaneously there and yet tentative.

That excited him at a level he didn't quite understand then. Part of him knew exactly who and what he had encountered when he was sitting on a broken light above his body. The thought that he was the first man (and in retrospect he would later understand that in billions of years he truly was her first and only) to be anywhere near her, and that this was what he was doing instead of Heaven or Hell or something else.....he was lost in exploring her, in the way she reacted with a sensitivity that amazed him to his touches. When he placed his lips around her nipples she jerked and he swore that she came purely from that alone, that first time, and his hand was still on her mound.

It was after that, when she'd arched and then seemed to melt into his arms, their bodies intertwined that he'd finally taken the plunge and slowly learned about her and about women, her hand deftly moving to adjust his motions, and again that strength. It was like when Clark or Kara had any kind of skin to skin contact, that same iron strength that could casually yank an arm out of its socket without much of any difficulty. It was fast, too, fast enough that it almost seemed like it wasn't really real or quite there, and yet he knew that it was. This was to him what it was to be dead, he let himself think the word.

On a beautiful woman's couch, fingering her with her help, seeing her arch herself, hearing her ethereal voice turn raspy with moans and seeing her hips move. Knowing that she was doing this for him, that it was something that was wondrous and surreal and yet it was here. It was here, and it was now, and it was the sight of something altogether unlike some of the things he'd seen on the dirty and despair-ridden streets of Gotham. No child grew up in Gotham without those sights. Gotham had the highest prostitution rate in the United States outside Las Vegas, and where in Vegas it was legal (and supremely profitable) in Gotham it was desperation and sorrow.

This....this was something of delicacy interwoven with a raw kind of lust that he would not come to recognize until later (and he would come to find an innate dislike for the entity with the golden eyes and two shadows that worked a fell will on mortals and viewed them as its toys). It meant that renewing and breaking the kisses, exploring parts of the body he'd never imagined (and with women who were much more truly women there were areas that he had no interest in, and odors likewise. With this entity there wasn't any of that and it added to a surrealistic and dreamlike element that would lead to a harsh laugh from Dream of the Endless and comments that he did not quite decipher and was too afraid to ask). He felt the intensity of her own emotions and responses blending into his own, the way her body stiffened when she came the second time and he heard a low throaty almost purring kind of moan, and her motions, the way her body clenched around him and his hands felt drenched in something that tasted sweet.

It had a sense of completeness to it, of endings and of beginnings, of the dawn on a crisp clear fall day and the taste of something loved and beautiful that tasted once would endure forever in the mind and in the heart as a thing of blessings. It was addictive in its own right like the rest of her, and he swore that it was like the idea of a concept reaching that peak more than the peak itself, and yet no less real. He felt in his mouth and swallowed it no less so, and then she was on her own couch, sprawling and almost boneless, looking at him with wonder. By then he was hard, achingly so (and in retrospect, too, he would come to see that he had not cum as quickly in this time as he would in the time after it physically as one of the reasons he'd initially dismissed it as something that if not a dream was the kind of thing the sister of dreaming might create).

Hard as a rock, and eager, and pressing against her as she, panting, nodded eagerly and rasped: _**Please**_ in a single drawled word that could only push him on. He shoved her on her side, making time for an experiment with something in moving his hand briefly around her throat (and he would find out in physical terms that with a Kryptonian or Tamaranean or someone like Raven it would work fine. Zatanna almost ripped his head off when he squeezed a little too roughly there once and he would never, ever do so again minus such a partner). On the couch there was a softness and yet an iron beneath it that made him briefly wonder how much her appearance was real and how much of it was a body taken to be with mortals. If he saw her true face would it be a skeleton in a hood or would it be something like the lovechild of Nyarlathotep and the entities from that one anime that Martian Manhunter insisted everyone watch.

When he was balls deep in her, her leg lifted up, and her voice rasped in a continual purring pleasure, body and 'body' in perfect unity, it didn't matter. Then it was growing confidence and skill, and a woman who was finding herself as uncertain and novice to this as he was and enjoying things because of none else but him. This was something that Dick would never have, and that he would always have, the idea that here, in this place, he was able to have the strangest idea of a dying-dream that he'd ever imagined, feeling a body like none he'd dared to imagine, everything in the world narrowed to this space, and this time, and the way their bodies met.

To the vision of bone-hued hands grasping onto her couch and her eyes meeting his, an excitement in her that was almost feverish and yet uncertain, like she was uncertain how much enjoying this was real for her, even. Those flashes of what were strangely human reactions given everything else here were their own incentive for him to keep on, to see what more of them he could bring out. His hand tightened slightly and she came around him and he saw stars again briefly, hand sliding down to her breasts, kneading and squeezing in a manner that the invulnerable and Raven ignored but that those who were not politely informed him that was a bit too rough and gorilla-like to be acceptable (and then the image for a very brief moment of them and Gorilla Grodd in that position got in his mind and the one that was a mind-reader flushed and apologized for the analogy, not that it really helped at that point).

All she did was react with more of those low moans and pull him into a kiss, one of those kisses that haunted him and his memories, and which he would seek to be with as many beautiful women as possible to try to see if any could match it. Only Karen Starr and Artemis came close, and Artemis closer than Karen. Kisses as he continued to move with her and within her, as there was this sensation that life itself was in his hands, infinite eyes of darkness that drank in everything of him and of both of them, and the ways her sounds seemed to blend into the creaking of the couch and they were that creaking.

Her hand would thread with his at one point, fingers soft as silk and as strong as Supergirl's in his own, and he could easily imagine this small waif of a girl going to the towering and brooding crimson-eyed Uxas of Apokolips and rejecting his roaring howling against her and who she was and what she was and that there would be a sound of beating wings and then Darkseid Isn't. Her nails brushed against his skin with a slight digging that left small marks that would fade with time (and were on him when he awoke from the Lazarus Pit in something that he only realized the full implications of when the demon Trigon fell and he saw her again). They broke the kiss and she smiled, making herself speak slowly and deliberately and coherently when she knew she was on the edge of just giving in:

 ** _If I had to choose one, I chose well,_** and then they were kissing again, her hand out of his and on his head, as he soon felt himself ready to cum and they broke the kiss for her to nod and then as he felt heat surging through him and she made another low sound that rose slightly to nearly a scream, he groaned at a different level and leaned down to kiss along her shoulder, slipping out of her as she displayed a swiftness in her motions that surprised him. He'd seen the Flashes move that fast but nobody absent the Speed Force. Her lips went around him and cleaned him off slowly, and in truth it was something that she was surprisingly as raw with as he was with fingering her and he barely remembered giving her some guidance with words that did not stick altogether in his mind (though they would in hers).

When she drew back, her knees together, sitting on her legs, she looked at him.

Her nose twitched slightly.

_**My....sibling....may have had more than a slight say in this and I will regret for the rest of my....Endless....life telling xir so, but....** _

She made an elaborate show of a shrug raising both of her hands, palms up, a smirk on her face.

 _ **What's there to say? I enjoyed this.**_ Taking a swift sip of some whisky that appeared on the table near the couch and swilling it and then swallowing it, she kissed him and he shrugged. He wasn't gay by any means but he didn't really think it was fair to have a woman do things and _not_ expect some things (and indeed would prove surprisingly laid back about things and much less so than some aggressively heterosexual people in the superhero community, some of whom became infamous for it). They resumed their kisses and then he was able to shove her down on her couch, taking a little more initiative and a little more aggression.

Spending time as a Robin and as one of Bruce's trainees in general meant that he understood bondage more than most, and he grabbed first her belt, which he tied around her wrists, treating her as the human being she was not altogether entirely and making sure not to tie it tight enough to risk circulation. Then he took her top and twisted it like a towel, wrapping it in and around her mouth as she looked at him and smiled, making some muffled sounds. He smirked in turn, leaning down on top of her, whispering in her ear: "I always wanted to do this," before moving to see if this proved as enjoyable in practice as some of the things he'd thought about when his main girlfriend was Rosie Palms.

His hand came down on her ass and to his surprise and amusement, for all her slenderness, the ass of Death herself was soft and jiggled to the strike and she jerked a bit, clearly surprised but not truly objecting. Remembering the iron strength he had a feeling that if Death did not want what he was doing she would and could snap out of it and if necessary have him wake up in a grave (and that thought led him to moderate some of his initial impulses, contenting himself merely with looking at her sprawled on her own couch, gagged with her own shirt and tied with her own belt, which he reflected was much more pleasurable than Bruce's wildcat training exercises (which Bruce had warned them about and given them notice during the day as a means to prepare them for anything in the smog-ridden and shadowy streets of Gotham).

Now it was her tied like this, her mouth making muffled sounds, and where he'd thought of Barbara this way a few times (mostly Kori, though. And Raven, twice) he actually _had_ her here, in front of him, letting him do this. Gripping her by her hair and pulling her to look at him with a grin he thought looked tough and where he heard her unable to resist a muffled laugh that made him spank her harder. It was his first time to experiment and it would be something he'd try seldom as a thing in itself, because few women who were in his social circles were really into it (Dinah Lance was, but she was....taken....and quite contentedly so. Raven also was, but Raven had other oddities that made her a delightful taste when acquired but one that few people would be willing to dare given the prospect of things going from sexy to _Evil Dead_ in a heartbeat). Death was, however, and what began as a sex thing took on elements of his working out some of his frustrations about his life, about the things he'd done with Bruce and the horrors he'd seen before becoming Robin and afterward.

It was not her fault, he understood at some level, for she merely guided the souls of the dead and was there, then. If some entity deemed things it would be an embodiment of fate itself and if there was some force of Destiny akin to Death, he hoped Destiny got a good look at things. It was a slight reminder that what he saw and experienced was not quite as it seemed that a set of spanks that would have made his wrists sore and bruised a physical woman's body badly, if not worse were able to stretch out for what felt like hours, without exhaustion or even lactic acid burning.

Death knew what he was doing, she couldn't not know and be who she was and what she was and as she was. She knew and she let him do it, rewarding him with the kind of sounds he wanted to hear. He was no real threat to her, and if he had seen the elements of deeply hidden exhaustion and frustration in Death from her knowledge of her own fate and enduring it yet again, of being the last entity in existence and then returning, he would have understood that part of her had craved something like this, and nowhere else were people brave enough or foolish or reckless enough (or all three) to do it.

The once Robin and future Red Hood, however, was. It felt good, cathartic, and Death relaxed and encouraged it, relishing in the realities and the ideas. She was many things and she was everywhere and performing her function even as this occurred, across worlds and realities and infinite twists and realms of the broader set of universes where she and her siblings had roles. This was her restrained, in a way she craved being and it was a natural thing that in retrospect, she reflected, was to be expected. The Batman was an escape artist among other things and Gotham's criminal community knew just how near if not de facto superhuman its vigilantes were. The restraints were less to actually trouble them and more an attempt on the part of criminals to buy time, so naturally one of them would know this, and know how to make it good.

It was release, the ability to bear her burden and be tied down and spanked, brought here by a man who had just become one, seen his life cruelly interrupted and fixed down a path that would bring further sorrows. It was her secret regrets and wishes for things brought to reality and made manifest in the most wondrous fashion that had so many emotional layers to it that her siblings Desire and Dream were no doubt amazed and repelled (at least Dream, she hoped) at the ways it intersected with their realms but she just couldn't bring herself to care.

She let herself feel true pain and it was delicious, parts of her being knowing something that amazed her for the simple novelty. Dream had felt pain plenty of times, both emotional and physical. So had Desire, for it was xir function. Despair had been murdered, and Delirium too had died and transformed into Delirium from Delight (and there was no task harder on the path she followed than to take the hand of Delight knowing what it meant for her, for all of them, for the universe itself). Her pussy throbbed and she came several times during the spanking, losing herself in enraptured pleasures.

Was this why Dream had sought so many mortals? Was this what drove him to Nada and Thessaly and all those others? When she was with the women she was with they knew who she was and what she was, and they never lost sight of it. She submitted but she never truly submitted, and that delicate reality of meeting her first person who knew, who knew exactly what she was and just didn't give a rat's ass was its own experience. It was heady, the same element of Jason Todd that had.....driven him to her arms in the first place, because it had led him to confront the smiling Harlequin in the purple suit and to that encounter and all that had followed from it. And beforehand to face the monster Mongul and deliver Superman from one of her sibling's very worst blights that afflicted the known universe in all its forms and functions and fashions.

All good things came to an end, especially where she was concerned, and then Jason surprised her when he decided to experiment with something and put his lips between her legs while she remained bound. He was as inexperienced with women as she was with men, but the sheer novelty of the situation and the deep arousal from everything else as well as the small puddle that was beneath her meant that it would not take her long to reward him, aided by his brushing her clit a few times (admittedly and it did not take much to read his mind without any idea that this was actually what he was doing).

Her moans had become screams of pleasure, her body able to react and keep going beyond what a being less free to just exist could do. When he was done, he was hard again and pressed against her and she leaned upward, begging him as non-verbally as she could, as he removed her top from her mouth, tossing it aside and then he was on top of her, as she grinned, a smile that marked her decision that she really would have to thank Desire for all of this. The Endless could not love mortals without bringing them down. Not loving them did not equal a life of celibacy and where Dream did not accept that, she could.

And here, with this, she intended to fully.

It was the start of another hour of them together, Jason taking his time now and making a point to make sure she not only felt good but never forgot who made her feel this way, why he did, what it meant that he did. and for Death it was one of the most pleasant hours of her life, body brushing against her couch, her lover's lips and hands marking her in a way she wished could be more truthfully literal than it was (but it would not last, and there was a point where she would be unwilling to face her siblings' questions and the same hypocrisy that happened with Delirium's engagement and being jilted at the altar would happen with her. The men of the Endless could and did do as they pleased but they were never so willing to allow this for their sisters).

Afterward, she let herself relax in Jason Todd's arms and then she 'saw' his body taken from a graveyard by a stern woman whose body had the smell and contact with the Pits, the gifts she had left mortal men, things that could embody both of her functions. That was the intent, in any event. The servants of Yuga Khan had come to the Earth and to other worlds with Lazarus Pits in times long before the first humans resembled themselves rather than apes that moved on two legs and they had altered them and made them into hellish things. She regretted deeply that Jason would be there, would be exposed to it and yet, since her power was in them.....

He faded from her arms and it took her no time at all to slip out of the belt and to redress herself with a thought, reclining on her couch. Desire's portrait chimed and glowed with her sibling eager to speak to her and to talk to her after everything. She simply removed her own portrait from her gallery and let herself come as close to sleeping and to dreaming as she could get, Cavendish in her arms.

METROPOLIS, SIX YEARS LATER: 

Now they were here, in one of the many apartments of Jason Peter Todd, the Red Hood, and established vigilante who uniquely among heroes not of Bana-Mighdall and Themyscira had no problem with killing people dead. Raven knew, or at least suspected, of his ties to the Second of the Seven, as she insisted on calling her. Zatanna deciphered it as well when he'd made a comment about an ankh and a beautiful woman with the darkest hair and eyes he'd ever seen. She too did not call her who she was or what she was.It crossed multiple lines of hilarity and sadness that even Dream and Desire did not, nor did the big burly red-headed man who he'd encountered in the wake of a particularly spectacular battle against the armies of Kalibak the Cruel where Bizarro had first shown his stuff in his own oddball way.

And now here he was, alive, well, and with the personification of life and death on her knees in his apartment, nude as she had been that day, hands tied by her own belt. Only her necklace around her and in truth something that he could not move, nor could most anything that lived. He did not want to, either, her ankh was a sigil of many things and the image of himself becoming as decayed now as he would have been had he died in truth stayed his hand from there.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen on her knees, toes curled, her eyes meeting his with a glimmer of lust in them that was very real.

 _ **Please,**_ that haunting voice flowed into him like mist and rushing waters. _**I have missed this. And you.**_

His grin was arrogant, though it was hard for it not to be. He had learned of the Seven in the wake of his encounters, the golden-eyed one, Dream of the Endless who had been Daniel Hall and was now something, someone vastly different. And the other one, the big red-headed giant of a man. He knew just how powerful the being here was, what she wanted, what she craved, and how much she craved it _from him._ Perhaps only a Tibetan Buddhist could have looked at a being little less powerful than the entities that quite literally built the universe out of nothing and the one fated to outlast them all on the floor of his apartment, wearing only the belt tied around her wrists, her tongue out, and not had a wolfish grin on his face. 

He was out of his clothes now and she reflected on him as he moved. He'd grown hair on parts of his body that had not had it earlier, and he had scars. Several bullet wounds, traces of old magic, which she read easily. Some demonic, the others not. And energy, of various kinds, which left patterns of which some were like burns but most were not. The topography of a career ranging from facing the Black Mask and the vengeance-fueled encounter with the Joker to facing the likes of Uxas of Apokolips and his scheming brood, laid out.

He was hard, too, and she knew she had that affect on people. She did not take it for granted and often tried to dial back this aspect of her, for she knew all to well that it could be not simply risky but be something that would backfire in ways that made sense in retrospect and yet.....

He was hard and his dick brushed against her tongue, as she moved it, her eyes meeting his. His grin intensified and more than most she knew how justified he was to have it that way, and she let him slip in her mouth, angling herself so he was in her throat.

Now _here_ only the Kryptonians could match her, for they did not truly need to breathe, they only gave an impression of it. And here she did not need it at all, enjoying letting him dictate the pace again, using her and using her roughly, something that he did naturally and that just felt.... _right._ It took him a quarter-hour to finish and she swallowed all of his cum easily when he was done and savored the experience it took of him using her in a way that she could do and others just....couldn't. The sensation of having her hands restrained and her body and her will subject to the thoughts and the nature of another.

Dream had said that they were the toys and dolls of mortals once. He was correct, mostly, and she certainly felt that way with the strong hand of Jason Todd on her head, and the way he used her, and she knew that it was a feeling she craved and could not get enough of. Her throat bulged and was at its normal width as Jason moved in and out, as he dictated the pace and the way she was used. To _be_ used and to be a person, for a change, not a concept weighed down under the weight of ages and of agelessness, and under who she was and what she was. She was hated and feared, often, no matter what she did. Even if she found a lover, she was Death to them more than a person. Here? She was a woman getting used, and used with the kind of approach that meant she was in the end a person more to him than to anyone else she'd met. 

When he finally came down her throat she hummed in pleasure, licking her lips afterward and her gaze was haunting, as he jerked her up by her shoulders and she bored into him with eagerness.

He smirked and soon had himself on the couch and her on his lap and Death couldn't resist a contented purring sound.

"I knew you liked this," he said, as his hand slid down her back, caressing both the smoothness and the way her body moved as well as the sounds that echoed from her mouth convinced him that he was definitely on the right track. Her breathing intensified as he moved from her shoulder to the small of her back and then curved around her ass, as she looked at him with an eager grin and nodded. Soon his hand was working, hard slaps echoing and Death making low groans in pleasure, his left hand working hard on and with her body, her ass jiggling in tune with the spanks.

Death's hips quivered and she moved, groaning in contentment, letting Jason do what he did best.

She felt him hard beneath her and her motions goading him on, and he let himself be goaded, hand at work like a machine, Death reaching her first orgasm in between the eleventh and twelfth spank, and several more afterward, relaxing on his lap as he continued to move his hand. She savored it and the experience, and the way her body moved not against his couch but against his bed. His sheets were soft, luxuriously so, and the feeling of them against her were tempting and more than tempting. When he was finally done she was on her back again, on a bed, her face against a pillow. Jason was on top of her again, his arms beside her face, her hair billowing out on the bed.

He leaned down and licked her right ear, nibbling on the tip and her lobe, his dick against her warm wetness, as he slipped inside of her again and she let out the same kind of purring moan she'd made then. He grinned and bit her on her shoulder just a bit, and she came then in the middle of his first thrusts. The Jason she'd known in her realm was a boy who'd become a man and one who had greatly enjoyed her eager help in helping him to become a man in a wholly other way. This one was much more experienced, the ways his hands moved when they moved from beside her body to on it, his understanding of what she needed, what she desired, it was still better and she knew it.

It was a bliss that she found herself lost into, the kind that her siblings had known and that had seen her take steps to improve her various encounters with women, becoming more interested in initiating things and letting herself enjoy them. It was here, on a bed where a son of the Batman took her and conquered her and she admitted she was conquered that she yielded to a state where time passed in a state where a fly beat its wings in the time a world or a star died and galaxies formed and glowed and were caught in her grasp, too.

In the arms of Jason Todd, and in the ways her hips moved and her body reacted to kissing, to stroking, to bites and to swift spanks when he reared back and moved back away from her only to lean back, she smiled with a satisfied grin that reached from ear to ear, as his cock slowly throbbed and then she felt him cumming inside her. She was Death and she gave Life to all things, so she was both the mother that gave birth in that metaphorical sense to all entities, from bacteria to gods to ideas and the very material elements that made up Existence itself, and the one whose embrace was the last and the point where souls passed from life into what lay beyond. It was not to her to worry about being directly impregnated from this, as Desire in xir feminine guise and Del and even Despair would have had the prospect and indeed the likelihood.

She knew that and knew it was another advantage she had over other women, and as Jason Todd flipped her over and she looked at him, he slipped out of her, his length softening against her striations and her inner thighs. He in turn looked at her as his hands moved along her neck and soon were kneading her breasts, her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she looked at him eagerly. Between that and the sensation of her beauty in this sense it did not take him long to get hard again, and this time he slipped himself into a place that he had never taken before.

Jason almost never used a woman this way, but he knew at a certain level that Death of the Endless was no woman, merely a being in the form of one and the way he slipped in and that it felt pre-lubricated justified it. Death's eyes met his, wide, very, very wide. Nobody, not even her other women, had dared to do _this_ to her, only Jason and she was impressed that once again that he quite literally took a plunge where angels would have and did fear to tread. Her grin was almost feral and he knew this, his lips moving from kisses to bites that amplified the pleasure and the degree of pain she let herself feel purely to enjoy it.

He finished inside of her after a time that may have seemed long to him and yet to her simply meant that her body was flooded with pleasure as he, the man who'd taken her, fell into a contented slumber with her in his arms, her arms still bound.

He awoke the next morning to find her in his kitchen fixing him breakfast, her eyes twinkling.

 _ **Superheroes never die, after all,**_ her amusement was very vivid and seemed to cast a light of its own. _**And I think you, Jason Todd, will be having a very long life indeed.**_

Jason's grin was as wolfish as it had ever been, his bathrobe marked with a deliberate sense of humor as a cheap public store set of Robin colors. He went around her and slid his hands around her, his chin on her shoulder.

"Fine by me."

Now there was just the little difficulty of explaining who she was to Bruce without having to get his family involved in just the kind of magic cosmic tier experiences that the Batman decidedly did not want to have when he had enough trouble on his hands with people who fell into a chemical vault, discovered a taste for purple, and decided to share their idea of a joke with the world. That could wait. For now, he was alive, and the woman who'd given him the strange dream was real, and he would find his way in a world where she was.


End file.
